


Black Onyx

by tomarkexists



Category: Blink-182
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 15:04:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomarkexists/pseuds/tomarkexists
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A figure tumbled out of the small room they were cooped up in. His dark brown hair was messily dishevelled, his blue eyes were slightly blood shot from the lack of sleep from being on the road all the time, and his posture was horrible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Onyx

“Hey Mark! Can you come here for a sec?”

A figure tumbled out of the small room they were cooped up in. His dark brown hair was messily dishevelled, his blue eyes were slightly blood shot from the lack of sleep from being on the road all the time, and his posture was horrible.

But he was smiling widely at me.

This guy is Mark Hoppus. The bassist of blink-182. He’s my best friend, my other music half, my partner in crime.

Also, I deeply adore him.

“Yeah Tom, what you want?” he asked warmly.

“Help me paint my nails?” I shook the bottle of black nail polish at him. He nodded and sat opposite me.

“If I fucked up, it’s the bus fault, okay?” he took the nail polish from me, our fingertips brushing for a second. 

The slight contact made me feel warm inside, and I smiled goofily to myself. 

“That’s what you always say,” I joked.

To tell the truth, I could easily paint my own nails. In fact, when Mark does it, it always turns out horrible. I only asked him to do it for me so he could touch me and show me that focused look he wears that I came to love so much.

“Just your left hand?” he asked. I nodded, happy he knew exactly what I like.

He took my hand and inspected my fingernails. A slight frown formed on his face.

“You’ve been biting your nails again,” he stated.

I bit my lower lip nervously, slightly tugging on the piercing. He hates it when I bite my nails. Once, he caught me biting them till I caused blood to trickle down. He was so worried about me, saying I was going to hurt myself and it will be painful to play. He put plasters on my nails and flustered over me before I had to go on stage.

“Are you nervous about the tour?” he asked, and I nodded again.

Mark sighed as he unscrewed the top of the nail polish.

“If you’re nervous next time, just come to me okay? Don’t hurt yourself like that …” he held my thumb gently between his fingers and brushed the black liquid over my bare nail.

“Okay …” 

I watched his blue eyes, entirely focused on not fucking up my nail. As I observed him, I felt an overwhelming urge to hold him close. That thought made me nervous again, so I mindlessly gnawed on my lower lip. I suddenly winced as one of my incisors cut in too deep. Mark looked up immediately.

“Shit, you’re bleeding!” he pointed at my mouth. I ran my tongue across, a metallic taste spreading through my taste buds. 

Mark rubbed my bottom lip with his finger. I just sat there numbly, unsure of what to do. The only thing I could feel was how good his finger felt, how it made me feel hot and bothered, and I’m not too entirely sure why.

He wiped off the blood on his shorts and looked sternly at me.

“Tom, you have to stop doing that. Seriously,” he resumed painting my nails.

“Sorry … I’m a wreck. I always make you worry about me,” I said, a lump growing in my throat as I begin to feel guilty.

Ever since we blew up from Enema, I’ve been riddled with nerves that won’t escape me. It didn’t use to be this bad, but as we grew more popular, the idea of fucking up haunts me. Since the beginning of this tour, I’ve been trying to control my anxiety, but I was completely failing. Mark have caught me couple of times shaking desperately before we have to play a show, and I usually brushed it off. I told him not to worry about me, to concentrate on his own things instead.

In fact, what I really want is for him to calm me down. Mark knows exactly how to. But I didn’t want to appear weak in front of Travis. 

“Hey, don’t think that,” Mark looked up, his face now devoid of that discontented expression, only smiling softly at me. “That’s what best friends are for, right? To stick up for one another. So, don’t hurt yourself anymore, okay?”

“O-okay.”

I ran my fingers through my short hair. I looked at Mark’s hair. He has always hated it, but I think it looks great on him. There’s something wild about it, something uniquely Mark. I wondered if I look good with longer hair like his. I might just grow it out.

The bus drove over a speed bump. Mark accidentally ran the brush over my pinky, a big black splotch now adorning the side.

“Fuck!” he hissed. “Sorry Tommy. I fucked it up already.”

He looked completely devastated with himself.

How adorable.

“It’s fine Mark. It’s not that bad.”

“But it was nearly done too  …”

I inspected my nails. The nail polish was lumpy, some spots were not painted, and the huge black spot was drying up already.

“I love it!” I said enthusiastically. 

“You sure?” he cocked his eyebrow up.

“Of course! Thank you Marky!” I went over to his side and pulled him into a hug, happy I have an excuse now to touch him.

The bus suddenly stopped. The change of movement completely threw me out of balance, and I found myself sitting down on Mark’s lap.

The expected thing for me to do is get out of his lap and apologise. But I didn’t want to get up from this comforting spot. Instead, I wrapped my arms around his waist, being careful with my left hand, and rest my head against his chest. 

“Tom, what you’re doing?” Mark muttered.

“Hmmmm…”

“Tom…” his voice sounds urgent.

“The bus … it scared me…” I lied.

“Oh? Okay. Sorry …” he wrapped his arms protectively around me as I stroked my cheek against his soft shirt, listening to his loud heart beat.

“Mark, why is your heart beating so fast?” I looked up at him, my eyes big as I wore a slight frown.

“Shit Tom. You have no idea, do you?” he said through his teeth.

“No?”

“It’s nothing. I will tell you one day.”

“Hey Mark.”

“Yeah?” the way he is looking down at me with such caring eyes made me feel completely safe, and it just confirms what I wanted to say next.

“When I feel like biting my nails next time, I will go to you and … um … can you hug me like this?” I asked shyly. 

“Sure. Of course. Anything for you.”

“Thanks Mark,” I kissed his cheek lightly, the usual thing I do when Mark made me happy. I inhaled the sweet scent on his cheek, probably from his after shave. When I pulled back, I observed his face, slightly red, and wondered what was that about. 

I placed my head back against his chest, listening to his heart beat as the bus drove us to the next location.

I fell asleep in Mark’s lap. A few hours later, he woke me up to tell me we made it to the next location. I began feeling the nerves crawling through my skin.

"Tom, I’m right here. I won’t leave you tonight, if that’s okay with you?" he said into my ears as he pulled me into a hug. 

"Okay, I like that."

"Fuck Tom, your nails!" he held my hand up, showing me the smudged polish.

"Well, you can help me paint it again tomorrow?" I asked hopefully.

"I’m cool with that," he smiled, ruffling my hair. "Let’s go. We got a show to do."

He linked his arm with mine, pulling me inside the venue.

And he was right.

He didn’t leave my side that night, and the nerves disappeared.

Nor did he left my side the next night.

Or the next.

In fact, he didn’t left my side at all for the rest of the tour.

And by the end of it, he finally told me why his heart was beating so fast that day.

He was about to run away when I told him that my heart was beating so fast, I could passed out.

And I did.


End file.
